by Karina Halle
And it’s far too late to come clean.
What good would it do?
The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up. I shake my head, trying to bring myself back to the present. But what use is the present right now when the past has its nails in it, firmly holding on. How can I go on and shove this all aside, how can I step forward with my life knowing she’s here?
She’s here.
It’s enough to make me go crazy.
I put the truck in drive and peel out of the parking lot, faster than I mean to, the wheels skidding in the rain before I straighten out and pull out onto Main Street. The cracked stone façade of the library, the yellow, red, and peach colors of the historic storefronts, Sam’s grocery store that the locals still shop at even with a new giant Safeway around the block—they all blur past me as I hit the gas, getting luck with the lights, green leading the way until I’m on the highway heading toward the ranch. Rain splatters on the windshield and my wipers can barely keep up.
Up ahead there’s a car pulled to the side of the road, a figure hovering beside it.
Even though I just want to get back to the ranch and don’t feel like dealing with anybody, I’ll never drive past someone who might need my help. That’s the first rule of thumb out here—help others as you’d like to be helped. It’s a wild, unforgiving land and people need to stick together.
Without thinking, I pull the truck over to the side of the road and assess the situation.
There’s something strangely familiar about all of this. I don’t know if it’s the force of the downpour, Cherry Peak and the ranch completely hidden by thick mist, the look of the old car, or the way the figure moves in the distance. But it’s enough to make me stay an extra second inside, grappling with the feeling of déjà vu as it smokes through my veins.
I take in a deep breath and step out.
I’m soaked in seconds and I pull my cap down against the lashings as I walk along the side of the road toward the figure.
But it’s not just any figure.
“Having some trouble?” I ask.
There’s a change in the air, like there’s a lightning storm concentrated right between us, building, swirling until I look up.
And meet her eyes.
Rachel.
Right here. Right now.
Standing before me like a rain-soaked ghost, an angel dragged from the river, long dark hair framing her white skin.
It’s like the lightning strikes me.
Right in the heart.
2
Rachel
“Goddamn it!” my mother swears, raising her fist to slam it into the steering wheel.
Without thinking, I reach out and grab her wrist, just tight enough to hold her back.
Shit. Her bones feel like a bird’s under my grasp. It’s only hitting me now at how much weight she’s lost. My stomach sinks and I quickly release her, awkwardly taking my hand back.
“Your doctor said you need to take it easy,” I tell her, trying to sound as firm as possible.
She laughs. “Easy? First you almost wouldn’t let me drive, now you’re telling me I can’t get mad when the damn car breaks down?”
“It’s not broken down,” I tell her, reaching over to tap on the fuel gauge. “You’re out of gas. I’m not going to ask how long that light has been on.”
The good thing about our car being broken down on the outskirts of North Ridge while a thunderstorm is brewing is that this might mean our dinner plans are off. And even though Hank Nelson mentioned it would just be my mother and me and his father, Ravenswood Ranch is the last place in the world I would want to be. Hell, North Ridge comes a close second.
Two weeks ago I got a phone call that changed everything.
It wasn’t from my mother, though it should have been.
No, my mother and I haven’t spoken too often throughout the years. We’ve both made a half-hearted attempt to have a mother-daughter relationship, but the truth is, I’ve still got resentment that even years of counseling and medication hasn’t gotten rid of, and she’s as fucking stubborn as ever. Even diagnosed with stage 1A lung cancer, she’s acting like there’s nothing wrong. If it hadn’t been for the brief phone call from Hank Nelson, of all people, I’m pretty sure I would have never found out. Maybe not until it was too late.
“Besides,” my mother says, flashing her sharp eyes toward me, “Doctor Cooper is a quack. He’s just being overly cautious about it all because there’s nothing else to do in this godforsaken town. I might just head over to Kelowna, or even Vancouver, and get a second opinion. I mean, I feel fine.”
I find myself nodding, even though she doesn’t look fine. It might be the cancer, it might just be because she’s gotten so much older. When you haven’t seen your mother in the flesh for a long time, the experience can be jarring. “You know I’ll take you, but I have to drive. And we’ll have to actually put gas in the car.”
She gives me an odd look. “You’ve changed, you know that? What happened to my baby girl?” And then she tries the key again, huffing and puffing at how it won’t turn over.
I sigh and take out my cell phone. I didn’t have service five minutes ago and I don’t have service now. Godforsaken town is right.
When I left North Ridge six years ago, I made it a point to never return. I thought maybe if my mother begged for me to come back, if she said she missed me, needed me, I would have. But that never happened. It never happened because she never missed me. I did see her in Alberta for my cousin’s wedding four years ago, but that’s been the extent of it.
As for me missing her, well…Toronto is my home now. The life I have built there has become my whole world. My advertising career, my boyfriend Samuel, my friends, my condo. Everything that means something to me is in that city.
I honestly hoped I’d never see this place again.
And I especially didn’t think I’d have to put my life on hold. When I told my boss Ed that I’d be going down to help my mother, he graciously gave me permission to take off as much time as I needed. My account would be transferred to Pete, who works below me. I wouldn’t have to worry.
But I do worry. I worry that this isn’t going to be a quick trip at all, that my mother will need me even though that’s the last thing she wants. I mean, she might have to get part of her lung removed and she has no one here, not really. My father has been in prison for the last four years, thank God, which leaves her all alone.
Besides, in the last three days I’ve been back in town, I haven’t heard her talking to any of her friends. When I asked about them, she just waved me away and told me to get her a cigarette.
Which I won’t, of course. The number one thing she’s complained about since I’ve been here is that I’ve put on weight (which I have, so sue me), followed by that I’ve “changed,” and that she has to quit smoking. It doesn’t seem to matter that she has lung cancer, she still doesn’t think she needs to quit. That, or she doesn’t care.
The only thing she does seem to care about is Hank, though it’s in a total roundabout way. She’s been acting like she’s going to this dinner tonight out of charity, but I can tell she’s looking forward to it.
Me, on the other hand, well, as long as the Ford Tempo is out of gas and we’re stranded here on the side of the highway, I’m not complaining. It’s embarrassing, for sure, to have this happen in your old town where anyone you know can see you as you’re parked awkwardly on the side of the road, but the sooner we get help, the sooner we can return to her shitty apartment and hopefully I can whip up a simple pasta for us.
I ignore the fact that Hank Nelson is nothing if not persistent and will hold you to a rain check.
Speaking of rain, the ominous clouds are now above us and in minutes I know we’re going to get drenched. The weather in this area is predictably unpredictable as always.
“Stay here, I’ll flag someone,” I tell my mother before opening up the door and carefully stepping outside.
Even though it’s t
he height of summer, this highway is more or less a dead end. After it crosses the Queens River toward Ravenswood Ranch, it continues on toward a provincial campground and then just ends. As such, there’s only been a few cars passing by, most of them packed to the roof with camping equipment, none of them local. One thing about this place that some people find charming is that if you’re in any sort of trouble, the locals are first to help you out.
Which is why I don’t expect to stand by the side of the road for too long. Not even when a loud, thunderous boom sounds from above and the clouds seem to crack open with rain.
“Shit,” I swear, getting drenched in seconds as the rain pours down, hard enough to bounce off the pavement. I move to get back inside the car when I spot headlights coming toward us. I peer through the hair plastered against my face and stick out my thumb before I decide to start frantically waving.
I can barely see through the rain now, but as the car gets closer, I see that it’s a truck.
A forest green Toyota Tacoma.
A car that’s far too familiar to me.
I remember the day that Shane Nelson finally saved up enough money to buy it.
Oh God, please let him have sold that beast to someone else.
But before it even starts to pull to the side of the road, my heart is already sinking.
No, it’s not just sinking.
It’s twisting and turning over on itself, a hard, tangled knot in my chest.
I know it’s him.
My ex-love. The reason I stayed in North Ridge for longer than I should have.
I need to get back in the car. Lock the doors. Do something totally irrational and foolish like run down the highway in a thunderstorm in the opposite direction.
But I don’t. Because my mother is right. I have changed. I’m no longer that girl that ran away. I might not be here by choice but I’m going to stand my ground, no matter what he did to me.
Even if there’s a hurricane in my chest, matching the storm outside, equally as vicious.
Shane steps out of the vehicle in that easy way of his, as if the rain isn’t pelting him in the face. His ball cap is pulled down and he walks toward us in a hurried half lope.
Every single memory of him is slamming into the front of my brain, no longer buried in the back. They morph and change, from us together as children, to dating as teens, to every wild and real and beautiful thing in between, and suddenly the memories fade and it’s just the here and now.
“Having some trouble?” he asks, just a few feet away now. My breath hitches at the sound of his voice. It’s deeper somehow, more gravelly. More everything.
I’m tongue-tied. Dumb on my feet.
Then he tips his cap back and his eyes meet mine. I was expecting the look of shock on his face, because I know I’m the last person he’d expect to see. There’s just a small spark, a flash, and then it’s buried behind that cold, handsome face.
Fuck me.
“Rachel?” he asks gently, but his voice is flat.
God, his voice. It slithers into my bones.
I swallow and nod. “The car is out of gas,” I say feebly, as if he’s a stranger.
He is a stranger.
He’s been a stranger in my own damn memories.
“Okay,” he says, blinking.
This is awkward. It’s painful. I don’t even feel the rain anymore, just this burning in my chest.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“Shane Nelson!” My mother exclaims as she leans across the passenger seat and rolls down the window, staring up at him. “Jesus Murphy, what are you doing here?”
Now he grins at her, looking relieved at the distraction. I hate how beautiful his smile still is. “I live here, Mrs. Waters, just like you do.”
“Ms. Waters,” she reminds him, her voice going cold for a second. Then she smiles. “You know I never see you anymore.”
“I’m a busy boy,” he says.
“A busy man.” I don’t think I like her light tone, like she’s welcoming this whole interaction. She was always the one to tell me that leaving him and North Ridge was the best decision I ever made. It had practically become her mantra.
Shane’s eyes flit to mine briefly, but it’s enough for the fire in my chest to strengthen. “I only heard you were back today.”
I nod. “Just came to deal with family business.”
“Apparently I have lung cancer.” My mother drops the words like a loaded bomb.
Shane barely flinches. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I believe the doctors in this town anyway.” And at that, she coughs, looking momentarily embarrassed. “Lucky we happen to be headed your way.”
Now he looks stunned. “You are?”
She nods. “You didn’t know?”
He’s avoiding my eyes now, but yeah, no way in hell did he know. He finally looks as uncomfortable as I feel. I take a bit of petty pride in that.
He shakes his head. “Know what?”
My mother sighs dramatically. “I used to think word spread quickly in this town. Well, I suppose I should come get in your truck and you can drive us to the ranch, unless you happen to have a gas can in your back and like standing in the rain like a damn fool.”
I’m already soaked to the bone, but I’ve barely noticed even though the rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. I can’t notice anything but him.
“Of course,” Shane says quickly, opening the door to help my mother out of the car. He still has his manners, something Hank ingrained into all of the Nelson brothers. That makes this all worse.
I grab both our purses from the car and follow Shane and my mother, my eyes briefly trailing over his tall body, his wide shoulders that only a lifetime of ranch work can bring, his firm butt in those jeans.
Jesus. What is wrong with me?
I close my eyes briefly, trying to get a hold of myself. I immediately think about Samuel, my boyfriend back in Toronto. Smart, ambitious, determined Samuel. A million ways different from Shane, a million times better. Sure, we’ve only been dating for about eight months but it’s really going somewhere, I know it is, it has to.
Focusing on Samuel makes me feel better. For a while there I was starting to think I didn’t miss him as much as I should.
But then I’m getting in the truck, and it brings back so many memories that I half expect to find my bra behind the seat.
Luckily, my mother sits shotgun beside Shane, leaving me in the back seat, wishing I could shrink away. I’m good at that, pretending I’m not somewhere, trying not to take up space.
The truck rolls off down the highway while my mother talks nonstop. It doesn’t matter with Shane—he’s always been the silent type—but my mother isn’t normally this chatty either. My heart winces a bit as I’m hit with the realization that my mother is really lonely.
Ever since I landed at our tiny regional airport a few days ago and she met me there (again, she shouldn’t have been driving), she’s been talking to me like we are old friends. Because we’ve never been close, I was taken aback by it and just listened. But with her excitement over the dinner and the way she’s now blabbering on to Shane about the weather, I know for sure she’s literally all alone.
My mother doesn’t work. I thought she had a job at the library but she acts like she hasn’t had that for some time. Her apartment is in a state of disarray, dirty and messy and littered with cigarette butts. She honestly doesn’t have a soul except for me, and now she’s battling cancer. She’s acting like she’s fine and it’s no big deal, but of course it’s a big deal. It’s a fucking huge deal, no matter the stage of it.
My heart clenches. I can only hope Hank still loves his wine and whisky because I’m going to need a lot of it to get through all of these competing feelings that are bashing me on the side of the head. Even though we’ve never been close and my mother has burned me in so many ways, I still feel like shit that I haven’t been the best daughter.
&nbs
p; And then of course there’s Shane, someone else who lit me on fire and left me high and dry. Two people who have had the biggest impact on my life and they’re both sitting right in front of me.
The rain doesn’t let up until we’ve crossed the bridge over the river and pulled into Ravenswood Ranch, the truck sloshing over mud-filled potholes as we head up the long drive.
It’s just as I remembered, and the nostalgia is getting more punishing by the second. To the right is the stable where I learned to ride, to the left is the big red barn where I watched Shane tattoo heifers and weigh bulls, where I spent many summers touching it up with coats of paint.
At the base of Cherry Peak, where the long, gradual slope of yellow grass and sagebrush turns to pine, is the main house, a sprawling old thing that always had a great deal of charm. Behind that, even though I can’t see them clearly from this angle and through the rain, should be the worker’s cottage and the guest house. Beyond that, in the folding fields and hills, are more ancient log barns and hay sheds and hidden places that contain a million memories.
It doesn’t look like a single thing has changed. I don’t know why I expected everything to be different, to look different and feel different. Maybe because in six years, everything about my own life has changed. But here…at Ravenswood Ranch, it’s like going back in a time machine.
And I’m not sure I like the results.
“We’re here,” Shane says, his voice jolting through me, and for a moment I have to wrestle with what year it is, who I am now. So many things aren’t jiving, especially being back here with him.
I find myself cursing my mother for not putting gas in the car, but in her condition who can blame her. Besides, it’s not her fault Shane is here. If anything, Hank was the one who assured me that Shane wouldn’t be here for dinner.
While my mother opens the door and starts to climb out, Shane briefly catches my eyes in the rearview mirror.
Beautiful golden brown, the color of strong tea, and brimming with intensity. Those eyes used to know me better than anyone.